


lost in your angel eyes

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, F/M, Mutual Recovery, Trauma Recovery, physical intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 07:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10894788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: It's been several weeks since the Framework, and Fitz and Simmons have been navigating the waters of post-trauma recovery of their physical intimacy. They decide to try a little light submission and Dominance as an expression of trust and reclaiming of control, and though it doesn't go exactly as planned, the night is still young.





	lost in your angel eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Command me to be well](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893633) by [Florchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/pseuds/Florchis). 



> title from 'Feels Like Heaven' - Reigan.
> 
> This fic contains very light Dom/sub themes based on a prompt on tumblr and as inspired by florchis' fic "Command me to be well". Sexual content is T/M.
> 
> TW: This fic contains non-graphic references to traumatic intimate/sexual situations.

unofficial prequel: [Command me to be well](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10893633)

-

_When all your gold comes with all your rust_

_I'll still adore you._

[\- Feels Like Heaven - Reigan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hDpIXX-QoZg)

-

“Okay,” he’d said. “I’ll try it.”

And he had thought about those words for a good two weeks beforehand, and he continued to think about them for the rest of the day, as so many layers of uncertainty – some had been there before, some hadn’t – swamped his mind. But he was used to making decisions amongst doubt; if he didn’t, nothing would get done. And he trusted Jemma. She wouldn’t push him or get annoyed if he backed out. So he made a decision, doubting though he was, and there was a little smile on her face when he’d agreed; a little promise to make sure it was all going to be okay. 

Fitz sat on the side of their bed, waiting. He was a little anxious, but it was hard to tell how much of that was from awaiting a planned sexual encounter – it was not as if they’d had much of a schedule for these things before – and how much was the fact that it was _this one_ in particular.

“You can say no,” he reminded himself, breathing out a sigh. As he waited, he wrote it down in shaky lettering in a half-used notebook. Feeling himself set the words out on the page, and reading them back, settled him a surprising amount.

_You can say no._

He smiled to himself, and his breathing came a little easier now that he had the concrete reminder to fall back on. He remembered the soft, warm feeling of Jemma’s skin without guilt for a moment. They hadn’t got very far with physical intimacy since the Framework, but he had a few nice memories that had not been drowned in poison. Hopefully, this was to be another. 

But it wasn’t. (Not at first). 

The night was looking good by the time Jemma came in to meet him. She hadn’t gone too out of her way to dress up, not wanting to overwhelm him, but her lipstick was a little darker than usual and her hair a little easier to pull down. Couldn’t blame a girl for trying, after all. 

She had been expecting him to be more nervous about this. Even, perhaps, to be pacing the floors, racking himself with guilt at the thought that he could ever enjoy such a thing. But he was sitting on the bed quite comfortably, if not entirely casually, and his face lit up and his pupils dilated when Jemma walked into the room. She smiled. 

“Hi,” she greeted, throwing a little flourish of desire into it and watching Fitz react – just a little, but in the right direction. 

“Hi.” He stood up and came over to her, brushing the backs of his fingers over her arms and then cupping her hands in his. They leaned their foreheads together, breathing in the same space. This part, they’d done a few times before. This part, they’d all but cleared of the bad memories, and replaced it with good ones – of Budapest, and of sweet smells and tastes, and of relishing the feeling of the other person’s presence. And maybe, of tonight.

Jemma looked up, and reached up a little for a kiss. Fitz granted her silent request, a little hesitantly at first and then with more fervour. His heart hammered in his chest, louder and faster than it probably should have as they were just kissing, just softly, but he held Jemma to him and she wasn’t one to let go unbidden.

Eventually, he let her slide back to arms length. 

“I think I’m ready,” he breathed, and she nodded, and breathed back; 

“Okay.” 

With one last, reassuring squeeze of his hands, Jemma stepped back. 

“Everything that happens now, happens because I trust you,” she reminded him, her voice an inviting, trancelike promise. “Don’t be afraid, Fitz. You’re not going to hurt me. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re in control now.” 

She closed her eyes, and sighed, letting her mind and body settle into the role. Giving herself over to him. Then she opened her eyes, and while she kept her voice soft, she added a hint of a tease to it. 

“Where would you like me?”

She watched the conflict play out behind his eyes for a moment; aroused, guilty, willing, uncertain. 

“Come over here,” he beckoned at last. “Kiss me.” 

Jemma smiled. Of course, that was easy. She slid a little more passion into it than before, a little more heat, and felt a thrill run up her spine as Fitz’s hands ventured further over her body than they had been in weeks. He explored her back and her hips and up her sides to her breasts. Jemma couldn’t help but smile, breathless, as his warm hands cupped them. Even from the other side of her bra and her shirt, she had missed his touch so much that it almost ached, and she gasped and squirmed as she struggled to get more from him without overstepping. He was in control. She mustn’t tip that balance. Besides, he was a gentleman; he’d take care of her soon enough. 

“Take off your shirt,” he insisted, far more brusquely than the first time, and Jemma danced with excitement as she clamoured to obey, pulling button after button down as fast as they would go, and tossing the shirt behind her before she moved back into his touch. 

And _oh_ how heavenly it was to feel his hands on her at last. His own hands, healing hands, hands that only ever meant to love her. She could have wept with the gratification of it, if not for the splintering heat dancing over her flesh that almost certainly would have evaporated the tears immediately. Jemma began to rock and grind her body against his, hot air racing in and out of her chest. His heartbeat was a frenzy too, and his hands were all over her, and against all expectations both of them were almost laughing by the time he swept her up and dropped her onto the bed. She shrieked with glee, legs kicking up as she fell through the air – cool and prickling against her aroused flesh – but when she did not feel the presence of his body chasing her, she forced the heady cloud aside to seek him out. 

Fitz stood at the end of the bed, trembling and sweating and massaging his bad hand furiously, like he’d be tempted to do something hurtful with it if he let go. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t, I can’t,” he whispered, a little manically.

Jemma, still breathing heavily, sat up and raked her hair into some semblance of order. 

“It’s okay,” she promised. “We don’t have to do anything. Remember? You can say no.”

 _“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,”_ Fitz insisted, and Jemma frowned. Can’t what? Can’t say no? Can’t follow through? Can’t be trusted? 

“I’m going to be sick,” he whispered, and ran into the bathroom.

Jemma felt tears sting her eyes. Tears of frustration, more than anything else. She wondered, for a moment, what had set him off after they’d finally managed to get so far. Perhaps it was her shriek, misconstrued as terror, or her kicks as resistance. Or perhaps it had been the sight of her before him, below him, subjected, as she had been to the words and bullets of a man she’d been trying to chase from her own nightmares, too. She wondered a lot of things, but there would be time for wondering later. Now was the time to not let go. 

Pulling herself together, Jemma rose and checked the straps of her bra and her hair. For good measure, she pulled an old cardigan of Fitz’s over her shoulders. Even she was surprised to find the comforting effect that it had, stopping her from spiraling as she reminded herself that neither of them were closing in on themselves this time. As difficult as it was at times, they were holding onto each other as best they could. They’d learnt something from the cosmos, at least. 

Jemma followed Fitz into the bathroom to find that he had not, after all, been sick. He was standing by the sink, staring at himself in the mirror, and when Jemma entered its field of vision he hung his head.

“I’m really trying,” he promised – and Jemma thought, maybe, she could see a few hot tears splash down onto the sink. 

“I know you are, babe,” she assured him. “And you can take a thousand years if you need to.” 

“I don’t _want_ to,” he insisted. “I don’t want to need to. I want _you,_ Jemma, I want you so much my whole body _screams_ with it sometimes, but…” 

He trailed off, shaking his head as frustration overcame him, and he restarted. 

“The things you went through, what you saw, how you want to reconnect with me… I wish I could give it to you, but I just can’t.” 

Jemma sighed gently and touched Fitz’s hand, leading him away from the mirror. His head still hung low, but this time, when she touched his chin, he looked up enough to meet her eyes. 

“Yes,” she said, fixing her eyes on his. “I love sex. Yes, I find it calming, and healing. And fun.” She smiled a little. “But in the end, it’s just sex, Fitz. I want _you._ And I want you in any capacity you feel able to give yourself to me.” 

His jaw loosened and she wondered what words were crossing his mind. Probably something dramatic like _I’d cross oceans for you, you know that._

But the words that made it out were: 

“Say that again.” 

“I love sex?” 

“No.” 

“I want you.” 

“No.” 

Her breath caught, and she made one more guess as she looked into his pleading blue eyes. In a whisper, an invitation rather than an order, she tried it. 

“Give yourself to me.” 

“Yes,” Fitz breathed. “Always.” 

“Tell me you love me.”

“I _love_ you, Jemma, I love you so much-“ 

She kissed him, as if she could drink the words. More tears slipped down her cheeks, but these were tears of relief, of release, as she felt wounds heal that she’d been beginning to think she’d only ever be able to bandage up. The passion in his words now soothed the steely hatred of what she had heard a lifetime ago. _You mean nothing to me. Say it._

“Say it again,” she pleaded, and he kissed her lips and her neck as he reaffirmed it, over and over, and she melted into his touch. 

“No, the bed,” she instructed, before he could get too low, and the two of them moved as one, kissing and stepping and dancing in time, to the bed.

“You first.”

She gestured, and he followed, laying himself out with only the slightest of hesitation before she crawled across the covers after him and placed a kiss on his forehead, his cheek, his lips. She lay across his body, so that she could feel his thundering heartbeat and shaking breath and see the tears on his cheeks, and feel his hands guiding and inviting her to touch him. 

“Oh, Fitz,” she murmured, kissing her way down to his collarbone. “I love you. I will always love you. I will always choose you, and protect you. You’re safe with me, for as long as you want to be, and longer. Always, always.” 

“I know, Jemma,” he assured her, finding her hand and entwining their fingers. “I love you too, and I will never hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.” 

He said it like it was a revelation; like he was finally trusting himself with it for the first time. He closed his eyes, relishing the peace of it as if he had managed to shut out a storm. Jemma sat up, and slowly picked his buttons open, one by one, cherishing the vulnerability and softness that had been denied them both for so long. At one point, she paused, her heart fluttering with the thought that he might open his eyes and they’d be the cold, dead stare of the LMD, but she shut the image out and leaned down to kiss his warm chest instead, and she felt him twitch and inhale sharply and curse her _bloody hands,_ and she laughed. 

“What?” he wondered. “What is it?” 

 _Everything,_ she wanted to answer. They were a mess, they were a wreck, but they were tumbling through it together and they were here, and warm and real.

“I love you,” she said, beaming down at him through her tears. 

He wanted to say it back again, but couldn’t – this time, though, for the best of reasons. His throat was choked with tears of relief and gratitude and love, because Aida – Ophelia – whatever she was, had never looked at him like that, and this time, rather than a reminder of how he’d been used in the past, that look of love felt like a reminder of how much he hadn’t. Of how this was real, and Jemma and her love were real, and that even if he didn’t feel like he himself could be trusted, he could always rely on her to keep his feet on the ground. She had always loved him for who he was, not for who she had turned him into, and when she looked at him with such admiration it was for him, not for her own ambition. When she said she loved him, it was not some constructed approximation of love that was really possession, and she didn’t want his body just for the amusement _._ She loved _him._ She wanted _him._ And she’d look after him. 

Of course, he’d known all of this all along, but sometimes the mind and the body and the spirit did not line up, especially not when they’d been hurt so badly. To feel them align again at last - to feel like he could finally grasp that sense of who he was, what he wanted, what he was worth – was positively euphoric. And maybe this feeling wouldn’t last forever but maybe that’s what moments like these were for. 

Watching Fitz have this revelation, Jemma hesitated. If they could leave the night here, she’d still call it a win. They’d come so far, so much further than she’d been expecting, and they’d defeated – at least for now - so many of the doubts and dooms that had plagued them for so long. But Fitz didn’t look like he wanted to leave it there; in fact, he looked as starry-eyed as ever and as she watched and waited, he smiled and rested a hand on the small of her back, wordlessly adjusting her hips where they sat over his. An invitation.

“Are you sure?” Jemma checked. Fitz nodded, now more sure than ever. 

“I love you,” he insisted. “And please don’t stop.”


End file.
